When it comes to 2012 and thinking back, I had luck and loss when it came to fucking. I lot of indistinguishable ass from assholes. People I wouldn’t want to repeat (and many of those folks do not appear on these virtual pages, although I did indulge a few of the worst abortions here and here.

Overall, I did fuck some hotties and got a few mediocre in between. A few of you might notice a missing entry or two — perhaps about you. Those are my own personal fuck tales. I’m looking for something more interesting to happen before I’d write about them.

A fuck worthy of an entry on this blog needs a hook — something interesting worthy to write about. If your ass is just another good ass from among the masses, then what’s to make it interesting? If you call me “Daddy” or you beg for my cum, it’s just like everyone else or it’s about like a few dozen others. It’s got to be interesting to me before it’s interesting for the readers.

Below are my top fucks from 2012, in no particular order ending with my top three places, in a particular order. When you consider I’ve fucked almost 250 holes this year, this list contains less than the top 5 percent… the cream of the creamy crop, so to speak.

Fucking a 20-year-old makes everything great, but this smooth Latino proved to be especially delightful on my vacation. A Craigslist hookup, he turned out to have an interesting hole.

Know how most assholes have a discoloration leading up to the pucker?

He didn’t. His had consistently colored skin.

And it opened like a flower. He begged for my DNA and I gave it to him in his tight little perfect hole. He obviously wasn’t a virgin, but something could make me pretend like he happened to be. He had a huge cock and just beautiful body.

Part of my Northern California Triple Play, Taye was a fan of my blog and drove from San Francisco to my hotel in Silicon Valley one day after work. Turned out to be worth the trip — and I think he agrees.

His prominent pecs include two rather sensitive nipples that I manipulated with ease to get Taye to do as I wanted, not that he’d do otherwise. And when his rather impressive booty opened up for my cock, I slid it home and fucked him for a good, long while before depositing my load deep.

And I kept fucking it deep to make sure my DNA took.

Taye ruined the sheets of my hotel room, but I didn’t mind. I didn’t mind at all.

If I’ve written about breeding him thrice, I obviously love his ass. And I do.

Words fail me to adequately describe what it’s like. Sure, there’s a photo here to show it to you. But when you see it in person, it seemingly glows all its own with a beauty and personality unlike any other.

And on his own, he does have a charm. It’s practically irresistible to me. I find him alluring in so many ways. But I’ve learned my lesson with some bottoms. This is one of them.

I love no strings fun, but fucking more than a few times are bound to create threads at the very least. If you don’t choose to acknowledge that, you’re fucking stupid.

Moreover, as a top, I am not just available to service the bottom. I generally don’t like for a bottom to summon and for me to clean up and go running.

But this man’s ass proved to be absolutely delightful and, for a time, I got ensnared in a trap. It can happen to the best of us. Even a top like me.

I violated one of my policies when it came to stealthing with this dude. However, he was an escort, so in fact he happened to be a slut and would do practically anything. That is except take my cock raw.

I was in Southern California on business and looking for an Asian, one of my favorite types. But when this body popped up, I couldn’t resist. Could you? Look at him! I mean, DAMN!

Found an cash machine and withdrew the required amount. We hadn’t spoken about being safe. I’d said I was looking for an Asian to load up in my Craigslist ad. It seemed pretty clear to me.

If anything happened to be deceptive, it was him when he pulled out the condom and put it on. In the final moments of fucking him, I slipped it off and loaded his ass.

Mission accomplished.

Honorable Mentions

Worthy of mentioning but not quite making the top spots, these guys could make my 2013 list if they apply themselves and take a load from me….

Top Three Fucks of 2012

While the five fucks above representing eight loads were in no particular order, plus two more honorable mentions for 10 total loads worth of the Top 10 fucks. But below, you will find the absolute best of the best for 2012. No one was better during the year. Here’s the four loads that stand out among the 200 to 250 I deposited in asses this past year.

I’ve felt bottoms moan and groan and sigh and just generally feel relieved when I breed them.

But this hot piece of ass. He went into pure convulsions at my injection of spunk.

Jizzjoy truly works for this man and fucking him is as much a joy for a top as it is anything else, easy enough to put him as number three on my top three of 2012.

I’ve actually returned and fucked him a second time to confirm this and I plan to return a few more times in 2013 to try his furry ass again and again. When a man begs for your load and has a series of involuntary reactions when you load it, you know you’ve hit gold.

This young man still haunts my fantasies with his talent and obsession with me. Obsession could be a good thing. It could be a bad. He skirts a fine line but so far, he stays to this side of it and I cannot wait until I breed his ass again.

This time, I want to double penetrate him.

Hairy, weirdly attractive in a geekish way, I’m as drawn to him as he is to me. And when we get together, the sex is indeed explosive. He seemingly studies my entries for the activities I like (deep-throat blowjobs that include licking my balls), perfects them and then does them for me.

Few men in this world earn my interest more than a slut like him — one who I could somewhat “date” and send him out on missions to collect loads. He would joyously collect every cumload and return to me full of DNA from strangers for me to churn up and them pull my cock out to let him taste.

Our fuck session lasted so long, I can neither tell you every moment nor convey the sensations of it adequately. But his ass remains in the top three I’ve fucked in the world.

If you agree with this, why support actively go against people’s attempts at protecting themselves with stealthing? If a bottom wants to use a condom, and the top puts it on, and the bottom keeps feeling to make sure it’s there, but you’ve popped through the tip and there is nothing short of pulling out and looking at it after each thrust…how should one protect themselves then?

Your comment confused me. You prefer to have bareback sex and will purposely fool a bottom by having unprotected sex with him even when the bottom gives you a condom and expects you do to the right thing…the bottom is protecting himself but you are stealthing to get your own needs met. Please explain.[/alert]

To Protect and Serve

It is not my job to protect you. I am not the police. I am not here to “protect and serve.” I fuck. I want only to enjoy myself. Sex therapists will tell you you’re accountable for your own orgasm. I’m not here to make sure you have a good time. We’re not in a relationship. You’re seen the abbreviation “NSA”; it means “no strings action.” I want no strings. I want no emotional entanglements.

If you expect anonymous sex with a perfect stranger to be trustworthy, to hook-up with someone you’ve just met and for them to be 100 percent honest about their weight, their age, their name (if one’s given), their penis size and their “disease-free” status, you’re a fucking lunatic.

If you’re going to an adult bookstore or hooking up online and you “trust” someone not to sabotage a condom to stealth, to slip the condom off or expect that the “safe sex only” moniker included as a part of their online profile means they’re really going to protect you, please go ahead and hand them your wallet, your car keys and your bank account numbers. I’m sure they’ll give everything back later.

You somehow think handing a wallet then turning your back on things will protect you.

It’s not my job to protect someone I just met.

I am accountable to only me and I’ve chosen not to “protect” myself. In fact, I will do everything possible to assure that my cumload will go into a raw ass.

It is your job to protect yourself.

“You protect you. Not me protect you.”

I have never agreed to use a condom. I do not want to use one. I have no responsibility to you. I don’t know you, I don’t want to know you and I just want to use your asshole to get off.

I make no agreement to use a condom. If the bottom assumes that handing me a condom means that I’ll put it on and use it responsibly in an adult bookstore or a sex club in a darkroom, he’s got another thing coming.

I’ve been writing this blog for a long, long time. But some of you seem to hate my stealthing and miss the fucking point I make about it. If you have figured it out (and those of you who’ve I met and clued in do not count), then write a comment.

It all boils down to the basics: You don’t want to get your ass bred, do not bend your ass over for a stranger.

When I post on Craigslist, I’ll often get messages from virgins. Generally, that doesn’t bother me. Popping a cherry can be enjoyable in more ways than one.

More often than not, I’ll be the “first” to break a hole in bareback. True that I don’t believe this. While I’m out about my stealthing, I believe many more tops do it and don’t confess their sin (and I’ve heard from them).

First, I cannot fathom someone denying themselves the urge to fill their carnal desires for what amounts to 36 or so years (depending when puberty really kicked in). There’s a societal norm that urges men toward marrying a woman and fucking her pussy, but if you’re a bottom (or a top), I just can’t see keeping your ass (or dick) dry all that time and not experiencing it.

Second, denying yourself that urge through your teens, twenties, thirties and forties to end up in your fifties and beyond, when your ass sags just seems wrong (FYI, my ass is starting to sag, so don’t give me shit about saying that). There’s something mentally deranged about now, in your fifties, thinking, “I’m ready to get fucked.”

Third, do you think I’d think you’re serious after denying those urges for so long that now you’re really going to let some anonymous Craigslist hookup breed your ass? Some guys tend to respond to almost everything. And after a minute, I recognize them so much, I employ filters to weed out their replies. One such replier I did today. He was in his mid-forties, asking for his first fucking. Over the past few years, he’d replied to my ads over a dozen times. I’ve engaged him a few only for him to disappear.

While he might not be into barebacking, between 2009 and today, he’d likely found someone in the Atlanta area to fuck him. He’s not a virgin (unless he’s pretending). I think it’s more likely he’s jerking off to the fantasy of being fucked and not going through with it.

In the end, I have a policy on men older than 40 asking for their rotten cherries to be popped: Hire a hooker. I’m not available to teach you.

It’s nothing to do with being ageist. As I’ve indicated, I’m an equal opportunity fucker and, if you match my basics, I’ll breed you. However, I don’t want to teach old men how to take cock because at their beyond ripe years, they’re probably not serious about it. The only way to prove seriousness — pay for it.

I do have one unusual note here. I knew a man who waited until his wife and kids were dead before starting his Gay life. In his seventies, we called him the “lizard man” because of the lizard boots he wore. He had the most horrible smell since he smoked so much. How he made it so long, we never knew. We also never quite figured out what happened that his kids were dead before him.

These Gay Ghosts… The Continuing Bullshit over Photos, Honesty and Me

Of late, I’ve been so lucky to engage with some interesting conversations. The introduction of Kik as an option to get in touch with me produced many more inquiries along with the normal production of e-mails and other messaging. Generally, I’m grateful.

But yet again, I get a message that just sends me over the edge. It seems to be a frequent of late.

“How old are you?”

Visiting my blog (where you are right this very moment unless you’re reading a feed), just click the About Me page in the navigation. All my basics appear there. My age and stats. None inflated or improved to make me seem younger, weigh less or more athletic or hung than I actually am. The cock pics are mine. The avatar pic on Twitter is me.

It’s so fucking easy.

However, because I put myself out there, so many people expect that I shall continue to give and give and give with no expectation of anything in return. As people get in touch, many begin with a barrage of questions (again, some available answers online) but mostly with an expectation that I shall give them a personal rendition of everything about me.

No fucking way.

Even as I get to know people, we’ll exchange a little and I’ll mention things like my next post about my last hook-up has gone online. I’ll get a response inquiring about what happened. I’ll let them know it’s ONLINE.

“I know, but I’d rather hear it from you.” Or, my favorite. “I just don’t want to open my browser.”

I actually enjoy meeting the people who read my stuff and getting to know them. But if it just doesn’t chap my ass (and currently, my ass is chapped thanks to one hook-up) that people won’t share a single iota of themselves back. Or they share just enough.

I’m not exactly your everyday porn producer and I don’t have the backing of any major studio. I do this myself. I’ve had death-threats from what I’ve posted — some may be legitimate and some possibly not serious. Over time, I’ve used my gut to weed out the liars.

But in the last couple of years, the sophistication of those who develop online personas has indeed risen to a level worthy of any fictional novel.

I wrote of my Catfish in Las Vegas (you need to see the documentary “Catfish” to truly get the reference, spoiler alert if you click the link), but he hasn’t been the only one to fool me. A retired woman in late 2009 and early 2010 provided quite an elaborate scheme, duping me and several others, using photographs and the voice of an underaged employee to assist in the con. I had several entries a while back but took them down since they exposed the young man and the woman’s family including her grandchildren.

The excuses are a lot of the same and some new ones. The new one that just gets me — coming from youthful (but legal) 19-year-olds to 25-year-olds: I have anxiety about taking my own photo.

Take a Xanax.

I’ve been chatting with this one hottie via Kik in Chicago. Or he says he’s in Chi-town. He sends me photos of people he fucks. Photos of his roommate. Of his roommate’s half brother. But when it came to sending a photo of himself, fuck if suddenly he had an anxiety attack and couldn’t send.

For another guy, this one in D.C., I get a limited number of photos. Three maximum. Then he become indignant about providing more, being insulted if I ask for additional images as if I am somehow asking for them to send me $1,000.
These guys haven’t hesitated to send me photos of with whom they fuck around. In some cases, the images will have come from amateur websites, blogs or Twitter accounts. Of course, my own photos are being used by others. We cannot stop that. There’s a guy in Pennsylvania who uses my cock pic in his Manhunt profile and, quite frankly, short of driving to Manhunt and whipping it out, there’s no way of proving it’s mine.

They lie and speak of others stealing their identity.

How to prove it?

It’s like a family whose loved one has keep kidnapped. I need “proof of life,” so I generally ask for an unusual photo that they might not have handy. For example, get me a photo of yourself in your underwear, showing both nipples, shooting a bird with your left hand in your bathroom mirror.

The only problem is if they’ve got another source for photos — meaning another guy on the hook like you — they can get you one quick from him. Your best bet is to establish where they or are some interesting fact prior to the photo — like the kind or color of underwear they’re wearing.

For one of mine, the underwear changed color

Still, those aren’t the only excuses one gets. Today, I received one of the most unusual: I can’t send or receive photos or visit your website until after 5 p.m.

Seriously, what the fuck?

He claimed to know nothing about me so it was “fair” for us to discuss everything because we both knew nothing about the other.

Even if his little story were true, as soon as the clock struck 5, he’d be able to find a whole shit lot about me.

Another bottom told me yesterday that his Grindr wouldn’t allow him to upload photos. I mentioned e-mail probably worked. He didn’t think about that. But no volunteer to send since he was “discreet.” I could drive 20 miles to his place and see his offer and, if I didn’t like, I could leave.

I met a local the other day for coffee who had a similar situation. The gentleman invited him over and he drove (get this) 42 miles one way. When he arrived, the man opened the door: Unshaven, unbathed and in a bathrobe.

That wasn’t the worst part.

The man unfortunately had some medical condition that forced him to use a colostomy bag. All of these were issues neglected to be mentioned. And the fucking asshole hoped that the bad medical condition would call out for a pity fuck. He didn’t get one.

I call bullshit on people without pictures.

Bullshit about viruses eating all your images is just that — bullshit. Your computer crashing and taking everything, same thing.

You’re talking to someone who knows enough to know a lie.

You don’t know how to attach and send an image? GET THE FUCK OFF THE INTERNET.

As for using a work phone or someone monitoring your phone, um, don’t be a damn idiot about that too. You’re e-mailing or messaging me on it. And just keep in mind, I now have the number. I could call or message at inopportune times and tell whoever answers what’s going on with you.

If you’re going to give excuses, then expect to be getting fucked some other way by me.

Moreover, the clear text messages or e-mails from that same damn phone will get you into a whole lot more trouble than sending G-rated images of yourself.

For all the gay ghosts, the fakes who love to trick me, there are those who are real and don’t mind being on the up and up. Like this Midwestern guy who’s just plain slutty and doesn’t mind letting me know it. We shoot the shit, Skype, text, whatever. And someday I’ll fuck him. Breed him. Put him into my camp of those carrying around my DNA.

Do you have to be 19 years old and a twink? No. He’s not. And every time I talk with him, he gets hotter. He doesn’t have to make shit up. He can tell me about his fucked up hook up or he can show me the video of his really hot breeding.

I’m not summoning a spirit with him. He’s real.

There will be a follow-up piece for my little Chicago friend and just for him.

I had planned on writing a hot story about my encounter last week with a terrific Latino boy. His copper eyes, his smooth body, his massive uncut cock and his incredible tight ass.

He kisses like crazy and I bred him despite him asking me not to do so. I was pumping his ass so hard he was about to cum so I let him.

You see, he’s a top. Not usually a bottom.

I lifted his legs and took a whiff. No stank. So I went in for that darting lick — just beneath his balls and well above his pucker.

I came back with a mouth full of bitterness.

Fuck.

How anyone could have shit that far away from their asshole, especially knowing they were off to play baffled me. I decided he needed a kiss.

In the back of my head, I knew it was toxic.

Sunday, I felt weird. By Sunday night, I began with whole-body aches and pains. These usually mean an oncoming fever. As I get them, let me tell you, acetaminophen or ibuprofen make no dent in the relief. I went scouring through the house on Monday for anything stronger, finding a few left over pills from oral surgeries and others I’d kept for rainy days.

Man, it was raining Friday night.

Not raining outside but into my toilets. I knew exactly what this was. I’d had it twice before. Once when I was much younger but the last time I’d had it, I spent five days in the hospital. Shigella.

Shigella is not fun. I really do not recommend it at all. And if you wonder why I get fucking pissed off at bottoms who don’t clean their asses, this is the number-one-with-a-bullet reason why.

Tuesday morning, I was first thing in the doctor to get everything updated get the new stuff.

Thank God for an understanding Gay doctor who gave me what I needed.

I’m on the mend, missing a full week of work for a decent hook-up (not worth the pain and suffering I’ve gone through).